Shards of Black
by sweet-apple-pie
Summary: What would have happened if the Dursleys refused to raise their baby nephew? Fourteen years later finds Harry Potter grown into a defiant young man with his own agenda... until one summer, when everything begins to change.
1. The Choice

**Title: **Shards of Black

**Written by: **sweet apple pie

**Beta Read by: **Madam Celeste (of Perfect Imagination)

**Disclaimer: **The Harry Potter universe belongs to J.K. Rowling. I'm just borrowing.

**Author's Note: **This story is an AU, all the way from the beginning of the series. There may be some mild swearing and violence, but rating is just to be spoilers from books 1-6. Without further ado, enjoy!

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**CHAPTER 1: **_The Choice_

* * *

"We are not taking him in, and that's final!"

Dumbledore suppressed the urge to sigh, settling instead for closing his eyes for a brief moment before he wearily opened them again. His gaze was grim as he surveyed the thin, horse-like woman before him, sitting on the couch with her arms crossed in defiance and jaws clenched in determination. Despite the gentle autumn sun streaming through the windows and the cheerful chirping of the birds outside, tension ran unbelievably high in the perfectly ordinary living room of number four, Privet Drive.

"Please, Mrs. Dursley," Dumbledore began patiently, "you are the only relative he has left. Surely, you can let your nephew seek shelter under your roof, if only to guarantee his safety—"

"I said no," Petunia snapped. "Whether the boy has other relatives or not is none of our concern. We will not be bothered with the trouble of raising an orphan. As you must know, we have our own son who needs much care, a son who deserves our undivided attention. What if the boy contaminates my little Dudley? I thought I'd made it clear that I am not going to tolerate _him_ and his horrid nature in my house for another hour?"

Dumbledore's eyes hardened. Oh, how he hated prejudice. It was clear that Petunia Dursley was what one might call a racist. But Dumbledore had his own plans, however much he detested this woman's ways.

So she wanted to be difficult. It was time for a trip down the guilty lane.

"And as _you_ must know, Mrs. Dursley, Lily has sacrificed her life for this boy," he said softly. He was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath from Petunia, and he knew his words had scored a goal. The subject of her sister's death, it seemed, was one thing that Petunia couldn't ignore altogether. "Won't you at least grant Lily's last wish that her son grows up safely?"

For a moment, Petunia seemed to waver. Her gaze drifted over to the baby in question, fast asleep in the crib on the coffee table. Dumbledore thought the boy looked like an angel. It broke his heart to think such an innocent child was a victim of Voldemort's callous acts, and that he would have to continue to deal with the Darkest Lord of the century, perhaps even the millennium, until the prophecy was fulfilled.

But the Muggle woman knew nothing of this infant's burdens. He glanced at Petunia Dursley, who was staring at the baby with an unreadable expression on her face. Just when he thought she had relented, Petunia turned her gaze back to Dumbledore with a flat look in her eyes.

"No."

The temperature in the room dropped several degrees.

"No?" repeated Dumbledore, projecting his displeasure through the calmness of his tone. "Why so quick to judge him, Petunia? He is Lily's only son. He is your own blood kin. Wouldn't you take him in, if not to raise him as your own, then at least to keep him sheltered from harm? You know that your sister would have done the same for you—"

Petunia paled. The hands on her lap balled into trembling fists. "Really, now? And how, pray tell, should I know what dear Lily would have done?" she seethed at Dumbledore, her eyes shining in anger. "My sister _died_, just as my parents did only months prior. Why is it, Headmaster, that I should sacrifice peace within this household just to make my dead sister happy, when she had done nothing for _me?_"

"This is not about anything as simple as give-and-take, as you are well aware," said Dumbledore as he gazed over his half-moon spectacles at Petunia, unfazed by her venomous outburst. "I rather thought you loved your sister enough that you would not turn down her last, and only, request."

"_Love_, my foot!" she exclaimed, jumping to her feet like a particularly angry horse. She snorted derisively, the tone of her laughter somewhat higher and more desperate. "When have we ever _loved_ each other? Not since that letter from your school arrived, I remember . . .."

Dumbledore watched silently as Petunia struggled to regain her composure. The woman seemed to be on the verge of hysterical tears, though out of frustration for his persistence or grief for her sister's memory, he couldn't tell. He suspected that Petunia couldn't, either. When she calmed down enough to carry on a civil conversation, Dumbledore said quietly, "That's not true. Ask yourself why Lily has continued to send letters to a sister who never wrote back, who refused to even acknowledge her presence. Forget about your differences and the wizarding world for the moment, Petunia. Jealousy will get you nowhere."

Petunia took a shuddering breath and closed her eyes. "_Get. Out._"

"Petunia—"

"No!" she shouted, her voice shaking and steadily rising. "_GET OUT!_"

Dumbledore looked from the enraged woman to the sleeping baby in the crib, and sagged back against his chair, recognizing defeat. It seemed that his comments about Lily had had a rather adverse effect on Petunia. He'd hoped to guilt her into taking the boy, but apparently, the rift between the Evans sisters ran too deep for amendment by his hand. He sighed in resignation. "Very well."

The Headmaster stood and took the baby in his arms, before he allowed himself to be led to the front door by a fuming Petunia. Wordlessly opening the door, Petunia gave a pointed look that screamed for Dumbledore to leave. He stepped out into the chilly November day.

Just as Petunia was about to close the door, Dumbledore turned to her.

"I thank you for your hospitality upon my unwelcome visit, Mrs. Dursley," he said, his blue eyes cold even as he smiled. "I think it only fair that I give you a warning. Lily's shield of love runs in her son's blood. The protection was supposed to work both ways for her child and her sister. As circumstances have it, you and your family are prone to becoming a target for Voldemort and his followers, but without Lily's child as your charge, you are completely vulnerable to their attack. While we can protect a wizarding child under our laws, you should be made aware that neither the Ministry of Magic, nor myself, can do anything to help you should you fall under attack. Your best bet would be to try not to stay in one place for too long."

Petunia scowled fiercely and slammed the door shut in his face.

Dumbledore heaved a massive sigh as he stepped off the front porch of the Dursley residence, not caring if the Muggle neighbors noticed his bright purple robes and his other decidedly abnormal bits of attire.

Things were not going as he'd originally planned. Far from it.

He looked despairingly down at the baby in his arms. The small boy had been startled awake by the sound of the slamming door, and he was staring up at Dumbledore with wide, innocent eyes. Those eyes, vivid emerald in color and bright with curiosity, captured the Headmaster's attention at once. He nearly started, caught off guard by the child's gaze.

It may have been just his imagination, or perhaps a trick of the light . . . but Dumbledore could have sworn he saw a flicker of raw power within the infant's orbs.

The boy himself appeared completely oblivious to Dumbledore's momentary shock, however. Upon finding a convenient play-tool in his range of sight, the baby grabbed a handful of Dumbledore's long, silver beard and pulled on it with a happy gurgle. That jostled the Headmaster back into awareness. He gently pried the baby's small hands open to make him release his newly found toy.

The child really was adorable, thought Dumbledore with a wince as his efforts were proved fruitless. But that was neither here nor there.

"Whatever am I going to do with you, Harry Potter?" he muttered helplessly.

The baby only giggled.

* * *

Dumbledore paced the length of his office, uncharacteristically impatient. Desperate times call for desperate measures. This was the conclusion that the Hogwarts Headmaster had reached on the subject of where to place young Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived . . . or at least, that was what Dumbledore kept telling himself. The reason he decided to take such a drastic course of action was solely based on the severity of the situation, and the simple fact that he could find no better solution to deal with the problem of who to appoint as Harry's new guardian.

It had nothing to do with how irresistibly adorable he found the child, or the fact that he was already getting attached to this little green-eyed monster. Nope, nothing at all.

He was just doing his duty. Honest.

Dumbledore's rather one-sided mental conflict was brought to a halt by a knock at the office door. He glanced back at his desk to make sure that the crib and the baby sleeping inside were securely disillusioned before he answered the door.

"Ah, Frank," he greeted as a tall, broad-shouldered man entered. "Thank you for coming on such a short notice."

Frank Longbottom gave a friendly smile. "No problem, Albus. They've given me a week off Auror duty anyway," he said brightly. Dumbledore noted that the man appeared a good deal healthier and happier than three days ago, when the war had still been raging and Frank and his wife lived under the constant threat of a vague prophecy—a prophecy which might, or might not have concerned their son, Neville. Now, though, it was glaringly obvious whose shoulders fate had decided to dump her rubbish upon. Neville was safe for the moment, and the reassurance did wonders for his parents' state of mind.

"So, what did you want to talk to me about?" Frank asked as they settled into comfortable chairs. Sensing Dumbledore's discomfort, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. "Does this have something to do with the Order?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "No, no. The Order of the Phoenix is disbanded so long as Voldemort remains dead, or at least stays at bay. I called you here today to ask a . . . ah, personal favor."

Frank looked slightly relieved that their talk was not heading in the direction of Dark Lords and condemning prophecies, but he also appeared curious about what the older man might ask of him. Upon seeing that the Auror was ready to blindly agree to any requests he'd make, however, Dumbledore silenced him with a raised hand. "Please consider this favor before agreeing to anything, Frank. What I'm about to ask of you may well place you in danger."

Frank drew back, startled. "What is it?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Well," Dumbledore began wearily, "simply put, I need you to sneak into some Ministry folders, tweak their documents a little, and then make sure that these documents cannot be reached by the wrong individuals. Before you ask, yes, this blatantly violates the law and jeopardizes your career, and so it should be executed with utmost discretion, if at all." He fixed the Auror with a serious gaze. "If you want out, now is the time to tell me; to hear any more details would put you at further risk."

To the Headmaster's surprise, Frank chuckled.

"That's not fair now, is it, Albus?" he said in mock resentment. "You already grabbed hold of my curiosity. I'd gladly take the risk to hear a bit more about your favor, though I fail to see why I should be in any danger. It shouldn't be that difficult to change the documents without detection . . ." he trailed off, before he rephrased sheepishly, "not for me, that is. The Ministry is too lax with information access by high-ranking officials and Aurors for their own good. Anyway, it won't be the first time I did something like this for you, and you know it."

"I was not talking about the dangers of the Ministry finding out," Dumbledore said with a sigh. "I have faith that you can carry out secret operations without drawing attention to yourself. I am, however, worried that you might become a target for Lord Voldemort's supporters should they ever suspect you of holding this information."

The reaction was immediate. Frank was said to have a sturdier backbone than most, and he was a feared Auror among the Death Eaters. But even if he was not a man to flinch at the Dark Lord's name, Frank visibly stiffened in his seat.

"I guess it was too much to hope that this favor wouldn't concern the war effort, then," he said tightly.

"I never said it would," Dumbledore pointed out. "I am not sure whether this affects the war at all, though I suspect it will cause some indirect influence in the future. Given the risk, do you still want to hear?"

Dumbledore's threat was enough to cause a moment of indecision. But Frank's mind was already made up.

"I do," came the firm response.

With a solemn nod, Dumbledore stood and walked over to his desk. Frank watched in bewildered silence as the Headmaster took out his wand and tapped it on an apparently invisible object on the wooden surface. A muttered spell later, a baby crib appeared, from which Dumbledore picked up a bundle and carried back to where he previously sat. He gently set the sleeping infant before a wide-eyed Frank.

"Harry Potter," the Auror whispered, avidly staring at the lightening-shaped scar on the child's forehead.

Dumbledore regarded the man quietly. The Longbottoms, like the Potters, had been warned of Sybil Trelawny's prophecy. It may have only been on a whim that Lord Voldemort sealed the fate of the Boy Who Lived, and it was for reasons unfathomable that the Dark Lord chose the Potters' son over the Longbottoms' as a more potent threat. Neville could have easily been the 'marked equal' as referred to in the prophecy. It could easily have been Frank and Alice that Voldemort killed, leaving their son an orphan. Dumbledore could see a flurry of emotions play across Frank's face; sorrow, pity, awe, worry, confusion . . ..

"Why is he here?" Frank finally asked once he shook himself out of his stupor. "I thought you decided to place him under his Muggle relatives' care?"

Dumbledore smiled bitterly. "The Muggles didn't take kindly to the idea of one of our kind living under their roof. Their mind seems to work as the Muggle equivalent of wizarding blood purists. I never would have imagined Lily's sister could be so different from her." Indeed, it was hard to see their relation, not only from their completely different looks, but also from the aspect of their conflicting personalities.

"Three days," Dumbledore sighed heavily, "it's only been three days, and they claim they'd had enough. I've just retrieved him this morning."

"That's . . . disappointing," said Frank, narrowing his eyes. "But I'm sure that if they found him so intolerable, he would be happier off with another, worthier guardian. Speaking of which, is that what your favor's about?"

"Yes," he confirmed, and breathed in deeply. "I have appointed myself as the new guardian."

Frank gaped. "You?" he all but sputtered. "But what about Hogwarts? How are you planning to run the school while raising a baby and keeping him safe from vengeful Death Eaters? Lily's shield only ensures protection through blood relations, and as far as I know, you and Harry don't share such connection."

Dumbledore merely nodded, but didn't say another word. The Auror continued on seriously, "Surely, there are many other families that are willing to take him in and raise him as their own. Even if it weren't for Harry being the Boy Who Lived, people would still care for him out of goodness of their hearts. Hell, I would do it. Lily and James would have done the same for Alice and I, and we owe them as much."

"If only the Dursleys were half as understanding," sighed the Headmaster. "But I must insist. Seeking volunteers to raise Harry Potter will force the information of his current lack of guardian to go public. And legally speaking, anyone can nominate themselves to such a task so long as they fulfill certain requirements. Harry's future will be determined by court, where the most influential would claim the right to take him—influential, meaning those like Lucius Malfoy, who would offer Harry to Voldemort the moment he returns. We can't risk the boy being found by the wrong hands."

Frank threw his hands up in defeat. "Alright, alright, I get your point," he grumbled. "I do suppose he'd be safest with you. But still, even _you_ would be hard pressed to keep your position, both as a guardian and as a Headmaster. What do you plan to do, exactly?"

Dumbledore averted his eyes. "The first step would be to move Harry somewhere far away from harm. The place I have in mind is America."

Frank stared, his mouth hanging open.

"I knew you, and many others, wouldn't like the idea," continued Dumbledore uncomfortably, "but my reasoning is that no one would think to search for him in the States. As for my duties as Headmaster, I will manage them with Minerva's help and with much illegal uses of a Time Turner. I plan to spend at least twenty hours each day with Harry, until he is old enough to be able to take care of himself."

The Headmaster peered warily at Frank, expecting a heated opposition. He was aware of just how selfish his plan was . . . but then again, how was it any more unfair to Harry and those who loved him than leaving him at the Dursleys? Frank sighed.

"You're right. I don't like your idea," the Auror said, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly, "and don't think others would, either. I know for a fact, though, that nothing I can say will change your mind, and I also know that I can trust you to carry out your promises." Frank looked up and gazed evenly into Dumbledore's clear blue eyes. "Remember that I'll hold you to the promise of keeping Harry safe. And I'd also advise you to try to keep your sanity while dealing with mountains of work and toying with time, but I'm not too sure whether you're sane enough to start with."

Dumbledore's eyes positively twinkled. "But of course, Frank."

The Auror stood up with a sigh. "Then I'm off to the Ministry to make you the boy's legal guardian. I wonder, though, if I can ask you a favor of my own."

"Ask away," Dumbledore said with thinly veiled cheer.

Frank shook his head in exasperation. "You know that you've been our Secret Keeper for the past fortnight or so," he started, ignoring Dumbledore's annoying twinkle, "and that you cancelled the Fidelius two days ago because we were no longer in danger. Well, given this new development, I'd like the Fidelius Charm back on our house. If, by chance, Death Eaters decided to hunt us for information, I want all protection available for my wife and son. Will you be our Secret Keeper again, and come over soon to perform the Charm?"

The Headmaster smiled. "I will drop by your place tonight, if that's fine with you."

"Sounds fine," replied Frank with some relief. However, his expression became stormy as he glanced down at the soundly sleeping child.

Harry Potter had already become a legend at the age of one. There were speculations of his great powers, and there was even the theory of his greater evilness being the driving force behind Voldemort's demise. It was quite ridiculous. Frank could only see the child as he was; a child of Lily and James, a child who was yet too young to know of his destiny. Frank felt his chest clench, remembering the late Potters. The child would grow up never knowing his mother's loving hugs or his father's proud smile. All because of a stupid prophecy and a traitor.

"I'll certainly sleep more peacefully knowing that you would never betray us. Perhaps the only remarkable difference that divided our paths had been the choice in Secret Keepers," Frank muttered, almost to himself.

Dumbledore easily understood what Frank was talking about.

"I heard that Sirius Black was sentenced to life in Azkaban," he said quietly. "Did you see him off?"

"Yes," said the Auror tightly. "Not a word of regret. Came up to me and asked if I was as blind as the others. The nerve of him! I can't believe he'd been betraying the Order the whole time—that he'd killed Lily and James and even Peter! He fooled all of us. Everyone's devastated, especially Remus." Sorrow and sympathy overtook the previous fury in the Auror's eyes. "Can't really blame him, can we? The poor bloke lost two of his three best friends in a single night, and by the hand of the third. Will you at least tell him that you're moving Harry to America?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Of course. In fact, I wouldn't prevent you or Remus from visiting Harry any time, though on the condition that both of you tell no one else of Harry's whereabouts or other such information."

"That's good to hear. I'm sure Remus would love to see him sometimes . . . and it would be absolutely delightful to go mock your child-raising skills every now and then," joked Frank. He offered a hand, which Dumbledore got up to shake firmly. After a final inclination of his head, the Auror made for the door. Just as he was about to exit the Headmaster's office, however, he turned back to Dumbledore.

"Good luck," said Frank with a grin. "You'll need it."

With that, the door shut closed before Dumbledore could come up with a witty reply. He smiled and shook his head at the empty office.

But as he sat down and held the baby in his arms, he thought better of his retort. Perhaps Frank was right, Dumbledore mused with a wince as Harry woke up and began his recent hobby of tugging at his beard. Already, every one of his plans involving Harry Potter had spun out of control. The boy seemed to have a knack for causing the unexpected. Perhaps there was more truth in Frank's words than he would have liked.

Perhaps he would need all the luck in the world.

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**A/N: **Feedbacks are _very_ welcome :)


	2. Shards of Black

_**Credit: **Big thanks to my new and wonderful beta, Mimiheart!_

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**CHAPTER 2: **_Shards of Black_

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Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and then into years. In a time of peace, a decade rolled by within a blink of an eye — like a shooting star across the starry night, like the faintest glint of the Golden Snitch in a long game of Quidditch. The baby with emerald eyes grew with each passing day into a healthy boy with a strong will and unbendable determination.

And fourteen years later….

On a lush, green hill in a quiet park, three teenagers lazed about under the shade of a large oak tree. Its branches and leaves cast rippling shadows onto the ground beneath, providing the teens with a comfortable shelter from the sweltering heat of the summer sun. It was a spot reserved for the gang for many years. And incidentally, as displayed by a boy with a mop of jet-black hair, it was the perfect place to take a nap.

"Hey, Harry? You awake there?" asked a voice through a blissful haze of warmth.

The fifteen-year-old boy shook himself into awareness and opened his brilliant green eyes. Harry Potter grinned sheepishly at the curious gazes of the two friends in his company as he sat up on the grassy slope. A warm breeze swept through the park, blowing back the teen's messy black hair to reveal a jagged scar running down his forehead.

"Not really. Sorry," said Harry with a yawn to the boy next to him. "I zoned out for a while there. You were saying?"

Alex Hammer, a light-haired teen and one of Harry's best friends since the age of five, looked at him in exasperation. "I said, is your grandfather coming back today? It _is _your fifteenth birthday, after all, and he's never missed any of your birthdays."

Harry shrugged. "Oh, him? Yeah, he is," he said half-heartedly.

"That's rather thoughtful for an old man who travels so often and leaves his grandson on his own for the better part of the year," chimed in Stephen Peterson, another childhood friend, with a grin from his cross-legged position at the foot of the tree. "He's a bit weird, though, isn't he? Not right in the head?"

Alex lightly whacked the grinning boy on the head. "That's his grandfather you're calling mad, you know," he said with a roll of his eyes.

"What?" Stephen defended. "Don't tell me you didn't freak out the first time we met him, Alex. I mean, look at his beard! And anyone who wears those horrid clothes of his has the right to be called crazy. The colors he wore must have scarred my eyes at the tender age of five." He then turned to Harry, and as if the thought occurred for the first time, he asked in surprise, "You're not offended, are you, Harry?"

Harry laughed while Alex shook his head with a small smile. "Of course not," Harry reassured his friend. "I've been telling him for years that he has atrocious tastes, and even I can't deny that he's crazy."

"Good," said Stephen brightly. "That's what I like about your gramps. He's definitely the coolest and the oldest man I've ever known."

Harry looked at him, highly amused. "_You'd_ like him, wouldn't you? I'm the one who has to deal with the crazy old coot. And speaking of which," Harry got up and stretched luxuriously, "I should be getting home now. He said he'd be back by five. I guess I'll see you guys later. Give me a ring anytime, all right?" Alex and Stephen nodded, and Harry flashed them a grin.

"Oh, and thanks for the birthday present. I think I have just the picture to go in this frame. I'll be sure to put it up in my room."

"Don't mention it. Good luck with your gramps," said Alex as he waved him goodbye.

Harry waved in return and began the short walk from the park to his home.

As soon as he was out of his friends' range of sight, however, the smile slipped off Harry's face to be replaced by a grim frown. Today was his fifteenth birthday; a day that had been marked on his calendar since three years ago. Although he did look forward to seeing his 'grandfather' — better known as Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts and his legal guardian — for the first time in almost a month, today was the day he would finally be privy to the last of the old Headmaster's secrets. Or at least, that was what the man had insisted. Harry had barely gotten a wink of sleep last night, dreading what nasty surprises the next day might bring.

On his twelfth birthday, Harry had seriously underestimated just how nasty these revelations could get. He noticed that his 'grandfather' had hesitated to disclose the secret three years ago, but Harry hadn't thought much of it. He had later regretted this careless mindset.

Despite not living with his guardian for the past few years, Harry had grown up under his care long enough to know that Dumbledore would tell him any and all secrets that concerned him, no matter how unpleasant. Harry had made sure of that.

He had known, since he was a small child, the tale of how he lost his parents. He knew the significance of the scar on his forehead, and about the wizards who sought after him for vanquishing their Master. Not once did Dumbledore try to lie or stall telling the inevitable truth. Even if the man didn't always give full answers to Harry's questions when he was younger, he promised to give satisfactory explanations later. Usually set with a specific date, thanks to Harry's constant nagging.

But nothing could have prepared him for the big secret reserved for his birthday three years ago.

It was with an ashen face and trembling hands that he listened to his guardian's hollow voice explaining his destiny, with the prophecy of his fate replaying over and over in his own mind like a broken record. That day definitely ranked in as one of the worst three days of his life.

He really didn't want a repeat of that this year.

Walking down the familiar street that led to his house, he remembered the events of last summer. Like every year prior, the meeting with his guardian had started out with his vehement protests against going back to Britain. Dumbledore seemed to think that hiding his charge in Muggle America until immediate danger had passed was a good idea. He seemed to think that Harry would willingly come back to wizarding Britain, where he would receive proper magical education at the very school he ran. Well, he thought wrong.

Harry had lived here, in a small city in Muggle America, for almost fourteen years. He had a life here, and he had his friends. No matter how much Dumbledore pleaded, or what guilt-inducing words the old man used, Harry would not give in. It was Dumbledore himself that had placed Harry here in the first place, and it was entirely his fault that Harry became attached to the only home he knew.

There was simply no way he would go back to his parents' — and his guardian's — home country, or rather, the home world. Especially not when he knew how the people there worshipped his name.

Harry Potter, savior of the wizarding world, the only known survivor of Lord Voldemort's Killing Curse.

The Boy Who Lived.

And Harry-bloody-Potter would continue to exist in only their legends as the Boy Who Lived In Hiding And Never Came Out, for all he cared. In Harry's opinion, whatever the wizarding folks in Britain thought of him wasn't his business. He didn't want fame, he didn't want attention, and he most certainly didn't want Dark wizards with pure-blood bigotry after his hide.

He knew the annual argument was coming up again, and he knew where his heart belonged. Granted, in the few times he had visited Hogwarts, he'd found the school welcoming and more than a little interesting. There was also the fact that Remus Lupin, his honorary uncle of sorts, lived there, as did Frank Longbottom. It wasn't often that he could see Remus, but Frank was a frequent visitor, and Harry got on splendidly with both of them. However, he was determined not to leave America behind for a restricted and constantly watched life in Britain.

His feet carried him home through his muse, and before he knew it, he was standing at the front door. Without much thought, he stepped inside, heading for the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. However, he halted at the kitchen door.

In the room was a familiar figure dressed in bright purple robes. The man's back was turned to the doorway as he prodded the microwave on the kitchen counter — one of Harry's recent acquirements — as though it were the most awe-inspiring mystery.

Harry's lips quirked up into a wry smile.

"Albus," he called, causing the figure to turn around with benign surprise on his ancient face, "you're back early."

Dumbledore smiled under a pair of twinkling blue eyes. Loath as it was to admit, Harry had missed that infuriating twinkle through its absence. Crossing the room in several long strides, Dumbledore encased his charge in a grandfatherly embrace.

"Happy birthday, Harry," the wizened man greeted as they parted, holding Harry at arm's length to inspect him critically. "I think you've grown again. How are you? And how was your day?"

Harry smiled and rolled his eyes at the typical questions. "Great. I've spent the day with my Muggle friends from school. You remember them; Alex and Stephen. Here, look. They got me a photo frame," said Harry brightly, showing the frame made of glass. He didn't yet know which picture he was going to frame. He wasn't very keen on having his photos taken, even with his friends, and so there were very little to choose from. With a mental shrug, he set the gift down on the table. He would ponder it later.

"That's good to hear," said Dumbledore, peering down at the beautifully crafted photo frame. He looked up at Harry. "I got you a present as well."

He extracted a thin, neatly wrapped package from inside his robes. Attached to the gift were two envelopes. Harry took the offered presents with a grin, and the two of them sat down at the kitchen table. As if on cue, a house-elf appeared with a crack, carrying a tray of iced tea.

"Thanks, Floppy," said Harry, and the tiny elf blushed, her head bowed and feet shuffling restlessly. "Of course. Enjoy your teas, Master Harry, Master Dumbles," Floppy squealed before she popped away.

Harry rolled his eyes. "She always does that. Shy thing." The teen ignored the tea and eagerly grabbed the gift from Dumbledore. Tearing the brown wrapping paper apart, he took out a rather plain-looking box. He opened the lid and tilted it — and out slid a handsome, black leather wand hostler. Harry held it up to the light to examine it closely.

"Wow," breathed Harry, and he looked up at his guardian. His face broke into a wide grin. "This is brilliant! Thanks!"

Dumbledore smiled. "I know how much you like to perform magic, Harry. Your dueling skills really are something, what with your natural talent and lessons from both Frank and Remus. I thought it was high time you got equipped with proper Auror gear. And on that note," he gestured to the two envelopes lying forgotten on the table next to the torn pieces of paper, "Why don't you open these as well?"

Following his gaze, Harry's eyes fell upon the abandoned envelopes. One was cream-colored with Dumbledore's loopy writing addressing it to Harry; the birthday card he received every year. The other was a light shade of green and looked formal. In fact, it was sealed with the familiar crest of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

With a snort, Harry tossed the second letter back to the Dumbledore.

"Thanks, but no thanks. You can keep your invitation to yourself," said Harry distractedly as he scanned the birthday card. "You already know that I'm not going to attend your school. I'm doing just fine with studying out of textbooks, and the occasional tutoring from you, Frank, and Remus more than make up for the lack of other classes. Besides, why would I start Hogwarts from fifth year? That'd seem pretty strange."

Dumbledore sighed. "You're sure, Harry?" he asked almost pleadingly. "I would like it very much if you were to receive standard magical education with witches and wizards your own age. Books can take you only so far, and there is a certain limit to how much home schooling can provide. Classes such as Potions and Care of Magical Creatures cannot be taught here, where we don't have the proper facility or environment. And it will be good for you to interact with wizarding children with various backgrounds."

"You were the one who insisted that I live in America for my own safety, you know," said Harry tersely. He knew that Dumbledore, despite being his legal guardian and having the final say in where he should or shouldn't live, wouldn't force him to go back to Britain against his wishes. He was grateful that the man respected his opinion, but he really didn't want to repeat his arguments.

"Who needs subjects like Potions anyway?" he sniffed, "I heard your Potions master is a git. He's the one that got Remus to quit teaching, isn't he?"

The Headmaster visibly deflated. "It is true that Professor Snape has issues concerning old grudges, but he is a man of honor and loyalty. I trust him with my life. And his skills in potion brewing are rivaled by none other. But that's beside the point."

Dumbledore's clear blue eyes pierced into Harry's emerald green. Harry stiffened and braced himself.

"You are aware of the reason I keep offering you a position in my school every year, Harry. You have been since three years ago, when I told you of Sybil Trelawny's prediction," said Dumbledore with an expression so serious that Harry almost flinched. There was a hint of sadness — and was it guilt? — in his somber tone. "Soon, I believe that you will be forced to return to the British Isle, not by my urging, perhaps not even by your own choice. And even if I wish for you to spend your childhood free from danger, it is of vital importance that you gather allies and gain loyalty from among your peers while you can. My instincts tell me that a new time of darkness is fast approaching… perhaps faster than we may expect."

"And as I told you a hundred times before," said Harry crisply, "I _will _face Voldemort when the time comes. Not sooner, not later."

Agitation clear on his face, Harry finally took a sip of his cold tea. It did nothing to soothe his nerves, but he took his time and gathered his wits about him. Making sure to keep any emotion from showing through his eyes, he met Dumbledore's gaze head-on.

"You said something about telling me the last of your secrets on my fifteenth birthday," he said, his voice demanding in its blank quality. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows in surprise, before the surprise melted into a pleased smile.

"You have been practicing Occlumency, I see. Most impressive. However," Dumbledore leaned in, amusement dancing in his eyes, "you are showing your nervousness by applying a mental shield at such obvious timing. That is one thing you should be careful about when trying to conceal your feelings. Mind you, constantly burying your emotions under a wall of Occlumency is anything but healthy."

Harry gave an impatient huff, which elicited a small chuckle from the old wizard. "Relax, Harry," he said soothingly, apparently taking pity on the boy. "The piece of information that I have planned to give you today is, while undeniably disturbing, not quite as terrible as the prophecy that I told you on your twelfth birthday. In any case, this news should not have as direct an impact on you as the prophecy did."

"That's hardly reassuring," Harry muttered under his breath.

Choosing not to acknowledge this comment, Dumbledore fished a small box from inside his robe pocket and set it on the table between his charge and himself. Dumbledore made no move to open it, to Harry's disappointment.

"Over the years," began Dumbledore in the lecturing tone he usually reserved for Harry's tutoring sessions, "I have told you of the history of Tom Riddle, of the crimes he and his followers committed, of the darkest times in wizarding Britain. I have relayed to you any and all plans Lord Voldemort may have for the future. Three years ago, I revealed to you the prophecy that directly ties your future to Voldemort's. Today, I shall tell you about how, exactly, one can destroy a seemingly infallible Dark Lord."

That grabbed Harry's attention. Keeping the burning curiosity to himself, he forced himself to sit calmly.

How to defeat Lord Voldemort? That was the thousand-Galleon question. It had occurred to him, numerous times after the revelation of the prophecy, that if Voldemort had not died by his own reflected Killing Curse, then he may well be immortal. And if he was — well, Harry wouldn't be able to defeat the monster, would he? According to the prophecy, that pretty much spelled out Harry's early grave, as well as the doom of the wizarding world.

Oh, he would fight. He would defy Voldemort with his dying breath, but he was aware of his chances at victory.

A mere schoolboy with some magical talent and the backup of a powerful sorcerer, against an immortal, murdering psychopath with godly powers. The situation seemed so hopeless when he put it that way, Harry thought despairingly. What were the odds of the former's survival?

Dumbledore went on, carefully studying Harry's expression. "It has been my speculation, for years now, that Voldemort owes his continued existence to what is called a Horcrux — or in this case, Horcruxes, plural. After much research and persuasion on certain individuals, I am now almost one hundred percent sure that my guess had been correct."

He reached over to the small box on the table and opened its lid.

Harry peered inside, expecting to see, perhaps, some beautiful jewelry or gemstone radiating off waves of raw magic. That was certainly what he envisioned would defeat the Dark Lord, if not some other ancient, deadly spell or obscure ritual. What he didn't expect to see was an old, rusted ring with a murky-colored stone set in the middle. An ugly ring. It did, however, stir the strangest feeling inside him that he should be close to the thing. Supposing this was a sign of danger, Harry kept his hands to himself and looked at Dumbledore inquiringly.

"A Horcrux is, simply put, a fragment of human soul that has been ripped off from the original whole for safekeeping," explained Dumbledore. "If the creator himself is killed, a Horcrux can keep the creator's soul anchored to the earth, so that the creator can never truly die until the Horcrux is destroyed. It can be made with a spell, but it requires the sacrifice of another human life. For Voldemort, this was not a problem, for murder was his forte. The only challenge for him was to create more than one Horcrux. This is not something that has ever been attempted, and in a sense, Voldemort had been right to boast that he had reached a level of immortality yet to be reached by anyone else. His soul is now in seven pieces, the seventh being Voldemort himself."

Harry reeled back, repulsed. Green eyes narrowed at the old ring sitting—well, not so innocently on the table.

"So this is a Horcrux?" asked Harry in a low voice. "And this… _thing_... has a piece of Voldemort in it?"

Dumbledore nodded. "The ring originally belonged to Salazar Slytherin. As I'm sure you remember, Slytherin was one of Hogwarts' four founders, as well as Voldemort's predecessor as a pure-blood idealist. Voldemort must have felt it fitting to store his soul within his prized ancestry."

There was a moment of silence as they both wordlessly stared at the Horcrux. The ring didn't look impressive or important at all, as though it might break when banged on the table hard enough. Harry gave Dumbledore a clearly impatient look. "Well? What are we waiting for, then? Let's destroy the damned thing and get it over with."

Harry closed his eyes and concentrated, silently willing for his wand to come; a useful trick he had learned from Dumbledore. The wand, twelve inches long and made of willow, responded by zooming straight in to Harry's awaiting hand. However, Dumbledore stopped him from hexing the ring to shambles by immediately covering the box with his hand.

"Not so fast, Harry," he said firmly, making his charge turn to him with a glare. "Voldemort would never make it easy for anyone with intentions of harming him to succeed. This Horcrux is no different."

Picking up Slytherin's ring, Dumbledore slipped it on the middle finger of his right hand before a dumbstruck Harry.

Harry shot out of his seat in alarm. He wouldn't have been surprised if, there and then, his guardian had started screaming under some unknown curse from the ring. But nothing happened. At least, nothing very strikingly remarkable. When he looked closely, he could see that the stone on the ring was emitting a faint glow from its murky depth, but that was about it.

"Don't worry. The ring won't hurt me," said Dumbledore, before adding thoughtfully, "yet."

Harry's glare intensified at the older man, but Dumbledore only smiled at his apparent anxiousness.

"This Horcrux is, I believe, fairly easy to destroy. A Killing Curse will be all it takes to banish this particular one-seventh of Voldemort's soul from the world of the living. But still, there are complications," said Dumbledore as he showed his hand to Harry. "It seems that, when worn on a wizard's wand hand, the very essence of the Horcrux comes up to the stone's surface, so to speak. When not, it retreats into unreachable depth. Voldemort must have arranged it so that his soul could be destroyed only while the ring is worn by the destroyer. Therein lies our problem."

Dumbledore raised his hand up before his face, staring intently at the ring that contained a shard of Voldemort's blackened soul.

"Even if one can aim a true hit on the small stone while casting the Killing Curse, and with a hand that isn't their wand hand — this, in itself, is not easy to accomplish— my guess is that the ring would concentrate the magic of the Killing Curse and transmit it to the hand on which it is worn. Simply put, to destroy this Horcrux would also destroy a wizard's wand hand; a vital tool for survival and for destroying Lord Voldemort himself."

Dumbledore's expression softened when he saw the warning look on Harry's face.

"You needn't look at me like that, Harry. I am not quite ready to attempt to destroy this Horcrux yet. I might need my right hand in the near future, though you would make an excellent replacement, I'm sure," he said, eyes twinkling. "I will destroy it when the right time comes. When I have hunted down all the other Horcruxes, perhaps, or when I feel that my hand would serve no better purpose."

Harry blew out a breath and glared at the ring. Voldemort's idea was clever. Twisted, most definitely, but clever. It screamed of his overt sense of self-preservation and persistence to live, even as the body-less, friendless spirit that Harry imagined him to be now. He scrunched up his nose in disgust. "How crude," he commented.

"It is," Dumbledore agreed, "but that is the way Voldemort's mind works."

"I guess I'll have to get used to it, then," said Harry grimly, looking up at Dumbledore. "Was that what you wanted to tell me? That I wouldn't be able to kill Voldemort before his other pieces of soul are destroyed… that we need to hunt down all of his Horcruxes first?"

"That is our priority, yes."

Harry slumped back in his seat and flung his arms over the back of his chair. "That's going to take forever," he muttered angrily. "Do we even know where the rest of the Horcruxes are? Or what they are, even? They can be practically anything."

"As a matter of fact, we know about two more," said Dumbledore. Harry directed his attentive gaze to his guardian. "One of them is a locket. Again, this was formerly owned by Salazar Slytherin. Another one is Voldemort's pet snake, Nagini. She has lived an unnaturally long life for a serpent and is rumored to possess some magical abilities. Though I have no clues as to where she might be at the moment, I have a rough idea about the location of the locket. For the other three, I'm afraid we are still groping in the dark."

Harry ran a hand through his hair in frustration, ruffling his messy locks even further. But he was oblivious to the result of this habitual action as he dwelled on the new information. He wasn't at all eager to face Voldemort immediately, nor did he believe that he was ready for a confrontation, but the wait was going to be torturous. He even half-hoped that Voldemort would come looking for him already. He _hated _feeling so useless….

No. That was definitely a dangerous line of thoughts. He already knew his tendency to act rashly was one of his biggest flaws. Patience was a virtue he needed to learn, as his guardian had told him countless times. Harry sighed.

"I guess this is a long-term project, then," he said in forced calm. "Is there anything I can do to help you look for the Horcruxes?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Nothing as of yet. However, I may call for your assistance to acquire Slytherin's locket. There is much research that needs to be done before I can safely confirm that the Horcrux is indeed where I imagine it to be."

Dumbledore took in the frustrated look on Harry's face with a slightly worried frown. He could easily see that Harry could use a distraction now. If he knew the boy well enough, nothing good could come out of his depression at the inaction and lack of reassurances. Dumbledore's gaze caught the wand still grasped loosely in Harry's hand, and then traveled over to the rejected Hogwarts letter lying on the table.

Staring thoughtfully at his charge, an idea began to form in Dumbledore's mind.

"In the meantime, you should take advantage of the holidays to have some fun, Harry. What do you say to a trip to Britain?" he suggested unexpectedly. Harry looked at him in surprise.

"I'm sure Remus and Frank will be thrilled to see you," tried Dumbledore in a hopeful voice. "There is also your need for a new wand. Even if you turned down my offer, yet again, would you object to staying a few nights in Hogwarts?"

Harry glanced at the wand in his hand, then back at his guardian's expectant face. Truth be told, he didn't particularly feel that he needed to buy a new wand. There was nothing inconvenient in using Dumbledore's old one. But he had to admit that the idea of seeing Remus and Frank was appealing, especially since it had been nearly three years since he last saw Remus.

Maybe the old coot was trying to make him change his mind about not attending Hogwarts by letting him stay there over the trip. But then again, probably not, since Dumbledore knew that Harry was unnaturally sharp. He could almost always see right through Dumbledore's manipulations. He decided to humor the man.

"No, that'd be great," Harry replied after a thoughtful silence. "I'll go, but only if you won't try to convince me to stay there for any longer than I deem necessary."

Dumbledore smiled. "I wouldn't dream of it."

Harry rolled his eyes in obvious disbelief, but smiled back nonetheless.

"So when are we leaving for Britain? I mean, are Frank and Remus fine with this?" he asked, his heart feeling a bit lighter. "Frank has his own family and plans, I'm sure, and there's also the full moon to consider. When would be the best time?"

Dumbledore appeared pensive for only a moment. "I believe full moon has passed a week ago. Remus should be sufficiently recovered from his transformation by now. Also, Frank had no plans to go on family trips the last time I checked, and he will be able to get himself a day off from work any time he pleases. If the sudden schedule doesn't bother you, how about tomorrow?"

Harry raised an eyebrow, but nodded without a protest. Dumbledore beamed.

"Excellent," he said jovially with a clap of his hands. "Pack up your daily necessities to last a few days, and we'll be off tomorrow evening. I will go back now to tell Frank and Remus about your visit." As Dumbledore took out a silver pendant — an international Portkey, Harry assumed — he looked at Harry one last time. "Oh, and be sure to get a good night's sleep, Harry. You might not be getting much tomorrow because of the time difference," he added as an afterthought. "I will see you later."

"Right. Bye, Albus," Harry waved as Dumbledore activated the Portkey and disappeared in a swirl of magic.

Left alone in the house, Harry sighed to himself. Perhaps his guardian was right. He really could use a break, and he had a gut feeling that this trip would be different from the previous few that he'd taken to Britain.

With that curious thought in mind, he began to prepare for what was, unbeknownst to him, the start of a long vacation.

* * *

The next evening, the doorbell rang precisely at ten. Harry turned off the television and got up from his sprawled position on the sofa to greet his guests. However, he had barely taken three steps when two adults emerged from the hallway, led by Floppy the house-elf. Harry's face split into a wide grin.

"Harry! Good to see you," exclaimed Frank Longbottom, clapping Harry on the back with a smile. "I heard you've been giving Albus plenty of headaches with your tantrums again. Have you finally decided to take pity on the poor old man and come back with us?"

Harry snorted as Dumbledore pulled a face at the Auror's comment.

"Not a chance," Harry replied haughtily. He stuck his nose up in the air in an impression of an obnoxious child. "I wouldn't have agreed to this visit if Albus hadn't begged me to come. And if I disagreed, as I was wholly inclined to do, you and Remus would have spent the whole summer sulking that you weren't graced with the holy presence of the Boy Who Lived."

Frank let out a laugh.

"That's my boy," he said, ruffling Harry's head, much to the boy's indignation. "You've still got the wits."

From behind Frank, Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Highly entertaining as it is to hear you banter, gentlemen, I believe Remus is waiting for our arrival. We shan't keep him waiting for too long. It's time to go," he informed them in an amused voice. He directed his attention to his charge. "Harry, is everything packed?"

Harry nodded with a pointed look at the trunk in front of him.

"And your scar?"

Rolling his eyes, Harry lifted his bangs to show a clear patch of skin on his forehead where the lightning-shaped scar could usually be seen. He had taken the liberty of concealing it with a Glamour Charm beforehand. It was a precaution he always took when leaving America. If a British wizard didn't recognize him by his prominent green eyes or the uncanny resemblance to his father, the scar on his forehead was a dead giveaway.

There wasn't much need for secrecy, in Harry's opinion, since he hardly interacted with strangers during his visits. No one had yet discovered Harry Potter, despite the talks and speculations of his whereabouts when he didn't show up at Hogwarts when he was supposed to. However, Dumbledore was much more wary than Harry himself when it concerned his safety.

"Good," said Dumbledore with a satisfied nod. He then offered an old frying pan to his two companions. "Quickly, now. Grab hold of the Portkey."

Harry touched the Portkey with a slight wince. He didn't like traveling by Portkey, — it always made him nauseous, especially because of the long distance between the two countries — but he supposed it was a vast improvement from the time he traveled by Floo. He vividly remembered throwing up on the carpet of the Headmaster's office as soon as he stumbled out of the fireplace, vowing never to trust Dumbledore's twinkling eyes again. That was one of the reasons he didn't often visit Britain, even if it meant not seeing Remus, which was a source of enormous guilt for Harry.

He vaguely wondered if his guardian remembered this trauma. Probably not. The man had looked far too amused at his charge's fear of using Floo since then.

Dumbledore glanced at his pocket watch after making sure that all of them were in contact with the frying pan, oblivious to Harry's darker thoughts. "We depart in thirty seconds," he announced. "Twenty… ten… three, two, one—"

A split second later, Harry felt the tug of the Portkey somewhere behind his navel.

And then they were gone.

* * *

**A/N: **At the risk of sounding whiny… review, please? I'd love to know what readers think of the story :)


	3. Strangers' Land

**

* * *

CHAPTER 3: **_Strangers' Land_

* * *

As Dumbledore counted down to one, Harry felt the Portkey activate for a bumpy, spinning ride. The world began to melt, rushing past in a vortex of colors and sound before him. Already feeling slightly sick, he closed his eyes, silently wishing for the trip to be over. And then — 

There was a loud clang of the frying pan, and Harry's feet hit the ground. He couldn't prevent himself from falling in an unceremonious heap on the hard, wooden floor.

That did it. He was going to pay for a Muggle flight the next time he was to travel. Why couldn't the wizarding folks invent some other means of transportation? One that didn't involve spinning and crashing?

With a grunt, Harry took the hand held in front of him and got up. He glared at Dumbledore and Frank, who were unabashedly chuckling away at his ungraceful display, but the action seemed to only add to their mirth. His glare wasn't even effective on them anymore, Harry thought glumly. He gave it up as a bad job and shook his head at the one adult that bothered to stifle their laughter to help him up.

"Nutters, both of them," Harry muttered under his breath. Looking up, he smiled. "Hullo, Remus. Long time no see."

The werewolf appeared just as Harry remembered him, with a few added gray strands, but otherwise whole and healthy. At least, as healthy as Remus Lupin could ever appear. His robes were tattered and shabby as ever, and there was still that tired look to his amber eyes. However, the man studied him with great amusement. "You've grown, Harry. But then again, I suppose it's only natural. I haven't seen you for three years." Looking a little saddened, he added, "I'm sorry I haven't been able to visit."

Harry felt a stab of guilt at the soft-spoken words. It wasn't Remus' fault that they hadn't met for such a long time. The Ministry of Magic had outlawed the international travel of werewolves five years ago, spouting rubbish about dangerous beasts and world peace. He knew that Remus couldn't visit if he'd tried to. If anything, he, Harry, should have been the one to try.

"You couldn't have, Remus. Don't apologize," he said angrily. "It's those dunderheads at the Ministry who are to blame. No offense, Frank." Receiving a half-hearted shrug from the Auror, Harry continued vehemently, "Uncontrollable Dark creatures, indeed — it's a wonder they can control a Flobberworm with such an incompetent, idiot Minister strutting around like he owns the whole wizarding world."

Remus regarded him with both eyebrows raised.

"What?" asked Harry, feeling a little uncomfortable under the man's scrutiny.

"I was just surprised is all," Remus replied with a smile. "You sounded a lot like the Potions master at Hogwarts. Severus Snape. You know, the one I talked to you about?"

It took a moment for Harry to realize that said Potions master had been the one to spill Remus' secret to the whole school, demanding his resignation from the Defense Against the Dark Arts post. Severus Snape was the one featured in many tales he heard from Remus about his time at Hogwarts, and the image he created was unpleasant at best. When Harry looked at Remus, outraged, the werewolf hastily changed the subject.

"What happened to your glasses, Harry? Aren't you wearing them anymore?"

A bit put off that Remus had compared him to his father's childhood enemy, he shrugged unconcernedly. "I'm using contact lenses now. Useful Muggle invention."

Remus furrowed his brows. "Oh," he said uncertainly.

Although he was fully aware that Remus didn't understand, Harry didn't bother to explain further. He had found out, years ago, that trying to explain Muggle machinery and inventions to a wizard was a vain attempt. Frank and Dumbledore were prime examples.

"So, where are we going?" asked Harry, taking a look around. He realized they were in Remus' house. And if his memory served right, it was located on the outskirts of London.

"Frank and Remus are going to take you shopping first," Dumbledore replied. "You will need to get your wand, but you are free to buy anything else within reason using my gold. You can buy whatever books you'd like at Flourish and Blotts — though knowing you, I highly suspect you plan to purchase a library full of dueling books."

Harry grinned. That was exactly what he intended to do. The rare chance of visiting a wizarding bookstore was not something he would easily pass up, especially when it concerned books on dueling. He didn't care how many times Frank teased him about his obsession; he simply loved the exhilaration of firing off spell after spell, the thrill of dodging and countering the opponent's attack, and the challenge of predicting the next move and of making split-second decisions to turn the fight to his favor.

Harry's fascination with the art of dueling surprised even Frank himself. Through his long career as one of the top Aurors for the British Ministry of Magic, the man had never seen a youth so talented or passionate about fighting. Harry absorbed all of the physical and the magical fighting techniques Frank taught like a dry sponge, much to his joy. "A born fighter," Dumbledore would say with a sigh, as if he was uncertain whether he should be exasperated or impressed with his charge.

Harry nodded. "All right. Aren't you coming too, Albus?"

"I am, unfortunately, unavailable for the day, as I will have to organize the new term's curriculum with the staff and go over the list of new students," said Dumbledore with only slightly exaggerated disappointment, "which, more unfortunately, will not include Harry Potter's name."

"Tough luck," Harry shot back.

Dumbledore smiled benignly. "Well, there's always next year," he said, making Harry roll his eyes.

And so, with a promise to meet at Hogwarts for dinner, Dumbledore Apparated back to Hogsmeade as Harry, Remus, and Frank made their way over to the fireplace. After a whole minute of fruitless pleading and puppy-dog eyes (they worked so well when he was younger, Harry remembered with a sigh), Harry finally succumbed to the two adults' decision of taking the Floo to the Leaky Cauldron.

* * *

The trio's first stop was at Gringotts Wizarding Bank, where Harry withdrew a pouch full of gold Galleons from his guardian's account — a sum he wouldn't be able to spend in a single day, as Frank pointed out. Harry shrugged half-heartedly and dragged Frank and Remus outside to take a tour through Diagon Alley. 

They had a small lunch back at the Leaky Cauldron before they headed outside again. Their tour soon came to a halt, however, when Harry entered the bookstore and flat-out refused to come out.

"Come _on,_ Harry. Leave the bloody books! You already cleared a shelf full of them, for Merlin's sake!" Frank found himself saying after two hours of being stuck in the same corner of the same store.

Harry acknowledged Frank's call by waving his hand distractedly, rather like swatting away an annoying fly, but made no move to comply. He remained standing in front of a large bookshelf in the dueling section of Flourish and Blotts with a book in his hand, occasionally flipping the pages with a thoughtful frown on his face. Remus and Frank traded weary glances. It was exactly as Dumbledore feared.

"Harry?" tried Remus, smiling weakly. "Come out and we'll get you ice cream."

This time, Harry snorted, but only shook his head. Remus sighed, and sharing a helpless nod with Frank, they resigned themselves to yet another hour of sitting at a nearby table to read.

About ten minutes later, however, Harry looked up at the noise of an approaching group of people. A very noisy group of people. Harry glared in the general direction of where the voices were coming from, annoyance etched onto his features at being disturbed from his avid reading. But Remus had perked up at the sound of voices and was gazing in the same direction with a curious look on his face, as was Frank.

"Don't see why we've got to take Potions _again_ —"

"Because it's your OWL year. Now, stop whining and start looking for your new Defense books! And you, Fred, George! Return that awful pranking book back to where it was. We need to hurry if we're to finish shopping today, thanks to all your dawdling in the Quidditch shop. Oh, look. Ginny, dear, there's that new novel you were saying you wanted to read. Do you want it?"

"Aww, Gin-Gin wants that dreadful book with the flashy cover?"

"Mum, _you _wanted that book. I don't want to read… what is it? _Lovable Lockhart: All About my Charm?_"

"And to think you won't let me buy that Quidditch book! It's loads better than reading Lockhart's crap. Oh no, don't you dare take her side, Hermione; you saw what a big fraud he was —"

"Ron, shh! You're in a public bookstore, not a Quidditch pitch!"

"There, that's the Defense section. Think there's any good pranking material in there, Fred?"

The voices were getting closer and closer. As the group turned a corner, Harry caught the first glimpse of a herd of redheads, followed by a girl with bushy, brown hair. The plump, red-haired woman at the front halted when she saw Harry snap his book shut and turn to them with a raised eyebrow. But as soon as she found the adults sitting at a table behind him, her face broke into a smile.

"Frank! What a pleasant surprise," she said, making her way over to the Auror. That was when she noticed Frank's company. She hesitated for a split second before approaching Remus with slight apprehension. "And Professor Lupin, I presume? I heard so much about you from my children."

Remus smiled back, but the way his shoulders squared and the way the teenagers trailing the redheaded woman fell silent at the sight of their former teacher did not go unnoticed by Harry. His eyes hardened. As Remus opened his mouth to utter some pleasantries, Harry interrupted him by setting his book down on the table with a deliberately loud slap, drawing a scandalized look from the only brown-haired girl in the group.

"You heard nothing bad, I hope," Harry said, immediately modifying his American accent. There was a smile plastered on his face, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. Frank and Remus turned sharply, surprised at the coldness of his tone. "Professor Lupin is a great teacher. I wouldn't want your blind prejudice towards lycanthropy to ruin his reputation."

"Harry," Remus chided quietly, but Harry continued to stare defiantly at the woman.

At first, the plump matron stared back at him with an expression of mild shock, but recovering quickly, she looked at Harry appraisingly. If Harry was a little startled to see affection in her eyes, he didn't outwardly show it. But he had to admit that he had expected the woman to be furious for his display of open hostility, not proud.

"And who might you be, young man?" she asked, and Harry gazed at her blankly for a moment before cursing his thoughtless butt-in. Who was he, indeed? He couldn't possibly pray that the woman wouldn't have heard of Harry Potter. He desperately searched for a name to use.

"Harry Cormack," came a voice from behind him.

Harry jumped and turned to see Frank rise from his seat to stand next to him. The Auror patted his head — something he knew Harry resented — for the second time that day. "He's a distant relative of Dumbledore's. Has him visiting for the week, and being the mighty Headmaster he is, Dumbledore managed to persuade us into babysitting little Harry while he's having a meeting with his staff."

Harry grimaced at the word 'babysitting,' but refrained from arguing, settling instead for a mute glare. When the woman appeared convinced, however, he gave a small nod to Frank to show his appreciation for the fast thinking.

"You know the Headmaster?" the girl with the bushy hair spoke up, curiosity lighting her brown eyes. "You look about our age, but you don't attend Hogwarts, do you?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm home-schooled."

"Oh." The girl frowned, but did not press the issue. Instead, her eyes traveled over to the mountain of books stacked on the floor next to him, widening like saucers as she realized that he had purchased all of them. There must have been over fifty volumes, all of them Defense-related. Without much caring for his privacy, Harry noted in annoyance, the girl flew to the books' side and began to examine their titles. Noticing the girl's interest, the other children began to crowd around as well, leaving the adults to converse on their own.

"Bloody Hell!" exclaimed the youngest redheaded boy, stepping away with a dumbfounded look on his face. He stared at Harry as though he was crazy. "All of them are about Defense. What are you, a Defense maniac?"

The smallest of the group — a petite girl with flowing red hair — smacked the boy's head none too gently. "Ever heard of politeness, Ron?" she said scathingly.

Harry cleared his throat to cut off the verbal spar he could see coming up between the two siblings. "Speaking of politeness," he began, arching an eyebrow, "you do realize that you've yet to introduce yourselves? You seem to know both of my… ah, _babysitters._"

"I hadn't realized — I'm sorry, I'm Hermione Granger." Predictably, it was the bushy-haired girl that spoke first, extending a hand. Harry took it and shook briefly. "This is Ron Weasley, his sister Ginny, and their twin brothers, Fred and George. All of us attend Hogwarts, so we were all taught by Professor Lupin. We're also in Gryffindor and are friends with Mr. Longbottom's son. We would know about Mr. Longbottom even if we weren't, though; everyone knows he's a splendid Auror."

Harry gave a small smile. "I see. Believe it or not, my Defense mania comes from him. Both Remus and Frank taught me Defense Against the Dark Arts. I do wonder, though; do you all still see Remus as a Dark creature?"

The group of students glanced at each other uneasily. Finally, Hermione spoke.

"I have to admit, we were all a little scared of him when we heard that he was a werewolf," she began, looking ashamed, "but looking back, I realize we've never had a better teacher in Defense. Professor Lupin was the one that taught us the basics of the subject, since he was the first decent Defense teacher in our Hogwarts years."

Ron nodded fervently. "The first two were complete rubbish. The only thing Quirrell did was stutter and whimper — he wore a bloody turban, for Merlin's sake. Said he couldn't stand the horrors of students anymore and quit, the poor bloke. That's mostly Fred and George's doing. As for Lockhart," he cast a sidelong glance at his mother, who was engaged in a conversation with Frank and Remus, and pulled a face. "Well, he was a fraud if there ever was one. Messed up in class so bad near the end of the school year that Dumbledore fired him."

"Moody wasn't so bad, though," said one of the twins. Harry immediately labeled him as George. "He was paranoid, sure, but at least he had some real experience dealing with the Dark Arts. Right, Fred?"

"Aye. Still, hearing 'Constant Vigilance!' around every corner was a tad wearing on our nerves."

"Mad-Eye Moody, eh? I've heard of him," said Harry, remembering Frank telling him about a trigger-happy ex-Auror, who was also an old friend of Dumbledore's. "So do you still have him this year?"

Ginny shook her head. "No. He retired, saying he was getting too old to teach."

"Well, he did say it was a one-year contract," Hermione pointed out. "If I remember correctly, he only accepted the post as a favor for Professor Dumbledore. But whoever is going to teach Defense this year, I hope they're better than the first two."

By that time, the three adults had finished talking. Harry started when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he turned to see Remus standing beside him with a considerably more relaxed smile on his face. He was pleased to note that none of the Weasley children or Hermione had shown any ill feelings or discomfort at seeing Remus this time. Frank walked up to them with Mrs. Weasley, still chatting animatedly.

"Well then, Molly, we must get going now. We've other business to attend to," Harry heard Frank say. "I'll see you all in a couple of days."

The Weasley matron smiled. "I look forward to seeing Alice and Neville. Oh, and Remus, Harry, do come and have dinner as well. We are having a get-together in two days. The more, the merrier, and I daresay Arthur would love to meet you both."

Remus looked a little startled. "You're sure, Molly?" he asked, and Mrs. Weasley looked at him incredulously.

"Of course! It's a small gathering with just the Grangers, the Longbottoms, and the Weasleys, and the meal is homemade — nothing formal or fancy — but the two of you are always welcome. Please, do come if you have no other plans," she insisted. For a moment, Remus and Harry looked at each other. When Harry gave a small nod, Remus smiled and turned to Mrs. Weasley.

"We're honored," he replied. "Thank you for the invitation. We'll be there."

Frank clapped them on the back and began to shepherd them away from the Defense section. Tapping his wand on the mountain of books, he lightened and shrank the load to fit inside a bag. "Let's move it, shall we? You still have that wand to buy, Harry… and you owe me ice cream for wasting two hours of my time. See you later, Molly," Frank called to the Weasleys, waving a hand over his shoulder.

The last thing Harry managed to utter before he was pushed past the doors was an indignant protest of, "_Hey!_ I was going to buy that book, you know!"

* * *

The warm rays of afternoon sun streamed into the small, shabby wand shop as the trio entered, making the bell ring through the silence. Ollivander's sure was an old — not to mention creepy — place, Harry thought, remembering the sign over the shop's window and taking in the rows upon rows of boxes, all covered in dust. Frank and Remus also seemed a little nervous, though mostly, they were relieved to have finally succeeded in reaching their destination. 

Still terse from being dragged out of the bookstore, Harry glared at his company as though to blame the lack of inhabitance in the shop on them, and stalked over to the counter to call for the shopkeeper. However, he jumped back in fright when an old man with large, silver eyes appeared right next to him from behind the shadows of a large shelf.

"Ah. Welcome to Ollivander's, Mr. Potter. I have been expecting you."

Harry looked at the old man in shock, momentarily wondering if he'd somehow messed up with the glamour on his scar. Ollivander seemed to sense his panic, however, and gave a reassuring smile, which only looked eerie and served to further unsettle Harry.

"You needn't worry, Mr. Potter. Your secret is safe with me," the man said, and Harry nodded uncertainly despite his mind doubting the words. "Headmaster Dumbledore told me you were coming today; otherwise, I would not sell a wand to an unnamed wizard. Of course, I would have recognized you just by your appearance." At Harry's inquiring look, he explained, "I remember every wand I ever sold, Mr. Potter, and every client I sold the wand to. Oh, yes. I remember the day I sold your parents' first wands like it was yesterday. You look exactly like your father, but with your mother's eyes."

Harry didn't know how to answer to that, so he shrugged and kept silent. To his relief, Ollivander seemed to spot the two adults lurking at the door.

"Mr. Lupin!" he addressed Remus, making the werewolf jump. "I remember your wand well, Mr. Lupin. Twelve and a half inches, beech, with the core of powdered unicorn horn. Very sturdy. And you, Auror Longbottom." Ollivander looked at Frank, and his nostalgic expression was replaced with slight disappointment. "Your wand used to be a combination of pine and dragon heartstring, I believe? Nice and supple, a unique combination. Shame it was destroyed in your duel with the Lestranges."

Frank squirmed uncomfortably under the wand maker's unblinking scrutiny. "Ah, well," he began tentatively, "if that crazed woman hadn't blasted it to pieces…."

"I suppose we should be thankful that your life was spared, at least. Even so, the loss of that wand was most regrettable. Are you having any troubles with your second wand?" Ollivander asked with a pointed look at the light brown wand strapped to Frank's waist. At the shake of Frank's head, the wand maker nodded in satisfaction. "Good. Now, let's get you fitted, shall we, Mr. Potter?"

In front of Harry's wary eyes, Ollivander snapped his fingers. Harry recoiled as a couple of measuring tapes jumped out from behind the counter and launched themselves onto him with unsuppressed enthusiasm. It was with his best self-control that Harry managed to stand still as the tapes measured the most bizarre places — who needed measurement of the length between one's nostrils? — and he was glad when it was finally done with. Little did he know that his woes in the wand shop were far from over.

"Let's see now," Ollivander said as he scratched his chin, looking down at the note of measurements. "There are a few wands that you could try. How about… this one?"

Ollivander carefully picked out a small, thin box from among thousands of others and took out the wand inside. Handing it to Harry, he looked on expectantly as Harry continued to stand there at a loss. "Go on, give it a wave," he said after a moment of awkward silence.

A bit miffed by the wand maker's lack of explanations, Harry waved the piece of wood upwards, just a little too jerkily. He almost dropped the wand in shock when the lighting above him exploded. Ollivander hastily snatched the wand back from Harry's loosened grip.

"No, no, no. Absolutely not… most definitely a mismatch. Here, try another one."

And so it went on and on… and on and on. Harry waved what seemed like half the wands in the entire stock, his agitation adding with every wand he tried. The small shop was almost literally in shambles by the time an hour had passed, and yet he hadn't found the right match. "Remember, Mr. Potter, it is the wand that chooses the wizard," Ollivander kept telling him, but Harry was slowly running out of patience. He had half a mind to give up and leave; after all, his guardian's wand had sufficed for a good part of his life. There was no reason to not keep using it.

Ollivander, who had been ecstatic at first to attend to such a tricky costumer, now looked flabbergasted. He reached for another box, but stopped mid-way with a frown. With a glance at the sight of Harry tapping his foot on the floor, he lapsed into thoughtful silence.

"The wand… Harry Potter…" Ollivander muttered to himself, paying no heed to his client's frustration. "Yes, it might just work. Mr. Potter, there is a wand I want you to try."

Harry suppressed the urge to snort. Like that was new. However, the wand maker had already disappeared to the back of the store and came back carrying yet another box — a box that, as far as Harry could tell, didn't differ from all the others in the store. Taking out the wand, Ollivander handed it to a very dubious Harry. Almost with reluctance, Harry took it in his hand.

And he felt it. Harry almost gasped out loud at the warmth that spread beneath his fingers. There was a sort of power, a sense of rightness and belonging, deep within the smooth wooden surface. Remus and Frank looked up at the sudden breeze that swept through the dusty room, and they couldn't help but stare at Harry's astonished face as he held the wand. Even before he'd tried it, Harry knew this was the wand. _His_ wand.

At Ollivander's encouraging nod, he flicked it with a muttered "_Orchideous._"

It was not that fancy a spell, he knew. Or at least, he thought. But he was surprised when a magnificent bouquet of flowers shot out of the tip of the wand, surpassing all his previous attempts in its beauty.

Ollivander's enthusiastic applause broke him out of his trance. Harry glanced behind him to see Frank and Remus giving a rather embarrassing standing ovation. Upon seeing Harry's scowl, Frank sent him a grin, but even Harry could see that both adults were unnerved by the show. Harry, himself, was more than a little stumped. He had meant to conjure only a few flowers. How in the name of Merlin did 'a few' become a hundred?

Harry looked back at the wand maker, who clapped his hands one last time before fixing him with his silver gaze. "Very impressive. This wand seems to have chosen you with extra fervor," he said. "That will be seven Galleons. But how curious. How very curious indeed…."

As Harry paid the money, he felt compelled to ask. "Curious?"

Ollivander watched him gravely. "Yes. Curious. This new wand of yours is made of holly, with the core of a single phoenix tail feather. It comes from the headmaster's phoenix, in fact," he explained, and Harry nodded. He had met Fawkes before, and had loved the fiery bird. It was indeed curious that his connection with his guardian would surface in this way. But Ollivander wasn't over.

"And it so happens that the particular phoenix has given one more feather to be used as a core of another wand. Another feather, contained within the wand of yew that committed horrifying crimes. It is curious, Mr. Potter, that fate should destine you to a wand whose brother marked the scar on your forehead."

Harry's eyes widened. His wand was a brother of Voldemort's wand? And then the implications hit.

"Priori Incantatem."

Frank furrowed his brows in bewilderment. "Excuse me?" he asked.

"Priori Incantatem… the Reverse Spell Effect," Harry repeated distractedly. "A rare phenomenon that occurs in the event of a duel between brother wands. The wands would reject the casters' command to fight, and one of the two wands would start displaying the last spells it performed."

When Frank and Remus continued to stare blankly, Harry glared at them in mild annoyance. "Honestly. I find it hard to believe you two are an Auror and an ex-professor specializing in Defense. What I'm trying to say is that if I encounter Voldemort, I won't be able to defeat him in a duel." A note of bitterness seeped through his voice at the thought. Ridiculous as it was, Harry had always believed that dueling was his best chance at survival. It was his forte; it was all he had. He turned his glare on his newly-purchased wand. "This is bloody useless."

"I did tell you; the wand chooses the wizard. This wand has chosen you," Ollivander reminded him. The wand maker's eerily large eyes bored into Harry's. "But whether the Priori Incantatem will ever take place or not, I believe we can expect great things from you, Mr. Potter. After all, the Dark Lord has also done great things — terrible, but great."

At those words, Harry narrowed his eyes, his fists clenching in anger. He spun on his heel without another word and stormed out of the shop, leaving Frank and Remus to hurry after him.

* * *

There was a soft knock on the door, and Harry curled up on his bed, lying on his side and staring off into space. Whoever it was outside his door, he didn't feel like answering. But the visitor was insistent. 

"Harry? Are you in there?"

The slight rasp in the voice was unmistakable. Figures that Remus would be the one to come retrieve him; he was the best out of Harry's three protectors at calming him down, has always been. While Dumbledore was the one Harry depended on to resolve his biggest problems by doing the impossible, and Frank made a witty sparring partner, Remus was the best listener. Since Harry was a small boy, he had always gone to Remus with his petty worries without fearing that it would interrupt important work, or that his views would be compared to other children's.

Another knock, followed by a pause.

"Harry…" A sigh was heard. "I'm coming in."

The door opened to reveal Remus standing in its frame. He seemed to search through the room for a moment before he spotted the figure on the bed and made his way over. Perching himself on the edge of the bed, Remus placed a gentle hand on Harry's arm. Harry, however, remained in his curled-up position, not acknowledging the werewolf's presence.

"You're still upset, then?" Remus asked his unresponsive charge. "I'm sure Ollivander didn't mean it like that."

Harry looked up at Remus' concerned face with the same blank stare he'd been giving the room's wall.

"It's not that. I'm used to people expecting things from me. Expecting me to come out of hiding… to save the whole, _effing,_ wizarding world if Voldemort ever comes back, and keep my morals and sanity at the same time." He let out a humorless laugh. "No, what really bothers me is that I don't have what it takes to answer to those expectations. Even my dueling skills are useless against Voldemort. How am I supposed to pull miracles off? What sort of power do I have that _he_ doesn't already know of?"

Remus smiled down at him, and Harry thought his smile looked a little sorrowful.

"Harry, I know I'm probably asking for the impossible, but try not to feel pressured by what everyone expects of you. It's not right that they're forcing you up on a pedestal and making you uncomfortable." At Harry's unconvinced shrug, Remus added. "And your dueling skills are everything but useless. You have the power to protect your loved ones. Your talent is something Aurors would kill to have… even Frank."

Harry froze and looked at Remus. "You know, I still have trouble imagining Frank killing someone. I've never seen him act particularly vicious."

"I don't blame you. Frank is usually very easy-going. But believe me, he can be vicious when he wants to be." Remus looked away and shivered, as if recalling a long-forgotten memory. "There is a good reason Frank was made the top Auror in the Ministry. You should have seen what he did to Rodolphus Lestrange when we found the group of Death Eaters wandering around his house."

"I've heard of it," Harry muttered quietly. "It was when Lestrange — Rodolphus, I mean — got a Cruciatus through to Frank's wife, wasn't it? He'd almost killed the brother too, before the crazy Lestrange woman disarmed him and broke his wand."

Remus chuckled. "Yes. But even that didn't stop him from strangling Bellatrix with his bare hands. The reinforcements had to pry him away in order to bring her and her brother-in-law to Azkaban alive."

Harry gave a small smile.

"Say, Harry, how are you progressing with the Patronus Charm? It's been five years since I first taught you, and the charm happens to be the last spell I taught before we lost touch," Remus said with a smile of his own. He was pleased to note that Harry seemed to be feeling better. At least, it seemed that he was no longer feeling as impassive as before.

Harry finally got up from the bed and reached over to the holly wand on the nightstand. The smooth surface of the wood glinted in the lamplight, and for a moment, Harry was reminded of Ollivander's large, silver eyes. He hesitated for a split second, but grabbed the wand and held it at the ready.

"I had a bit of trouble with this charm, but I mastered it just fine," he said to Remus. "I can cast a corporal Patronus now. The problem is that I've never tried casting it in a practical situation. I know it should be a lot harder to call for the Patronus in the presence of a Dementor, but here goes."

Taking a deep breath, Harry used a bit of Occlumency to push away his depression and pictured the first time he beat Frank in a duel. The mere memory of it made him smile. It wasn't exactly a fair duel; more like an eleven-year-old Harry assaulting Frank in his sleep, but it didn't change the fact that he won. At least, not in Harry's opinion. As he grew, and as he gradually acquired more skill and experience, he could occasionally beat Frank in a fairer duel.

Harry raised his wand.

"_Expecto Patronum!_"

A burst of white light shot out from the wand tip, so intense that Remus had to shield his eyes until his vision adjusted to the brightness. And when it did — as he took in the creature standing regally before him — he couldn't help but gasp. For one dreamlike moment, Remus could have sworn his heart stopped at the sight of his dead friend.

"Prongs," he breathed, his eyes never leaving the silvery form of the stag he was so familiar with. The Patronus tossed back its magnificent head, almost as if it recognized the name. Harry looked at Remus questioningly.

"Wasn't that my dad's nickname?" he asked as the Patronus gave him a final bow and disappeared. The well-lit bedroom suddenly appeared so much darker. "Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs… you never did tell me why you called each other that way. I can understand you being Moony, but the others sound like they're animals as well. Are they?"

Remus seemed to suffer an internal struggle, but in the end, he sighed.

"I did swear secrecy to my friends, Harry, but I suppose this is no longer just my secret to keep," he said resignedly. "You're father, James Potter, was an unregistered Animagus. That's what he — and the rest, also — did to keep me company during full moons. He used to transform into a stag, exactly like the one you've just conjured. It makes perfect sense that your Patronus is your father's Animagus form; James is still alive within you."

Harry felt himself blush under Remus' proud gaze. "Well… thanks. I appreciate that you're sharing your secret with me," he muttered, before he cleared his throat and looked up. "So what were the others? Wormtail and Padfoot, I mean?"

"Wormtail was a rat, named after Peter Pettigrew's Animagus form. And Padfoot —" The werewolf's expression clouded at the name, but he continued. "Padfoot was Sirius Black in his dog Animagus form," he said shortly, his voice and his eyes betraying neither hate, nor pain, that Harry imagined him to be feeling.

"You haven't reported this to the Ministry, have you?" Harry asked shrewdly.

Remus shook his head. "I did debate with myself whether I should, but I doubt this information is important anymore. Both James and Peter are dead, and Sirius… well, he can hardly cause problems with his Animagus transformation in Azkaban, can he? What with those Dementors around…."

"You're keeping this secret out of loyalty," Harry pointed out. "Even with my dad and Pettigrew gone, you haven't told anyone. Isn't that because you still feel you owe it to Black?"

It took a moment for the words to sink in, and when they did, Remus flinched as though Harry had harshly accused him of fraternizing with the traitor. In truth, however, Harry had only asked out of curiosity. The Sirius Black featured in Remus' tales of his Hogwarts days was so different from the cold-hearted murderer that he was infamous for being. Harry had always found it difficult to believe that such close friends — ones who would go as far as to become Animagi for their werewolf friend — could be separated so cruelly. But there it was; reality.

After a long silence, Remus finally found his voice. "Perhaps I am. Perhaps I should have reported it," he replied quietly. "I'm sorry, Harry. It's just that he was once my friend. Not anymore, of course… not after the things he did… but it is true that I still feel some degree of loyalty to the friend he was back then. To his more-preferred memory. If you want me to, I promise I will go to the Ministry with the information."

"Not if you don't want to," Harry said with a deceivingly casual shrug. There was a restless feeling — a sense of wrongness — in the pit of his stomach. As he carefully watched the conflicting emotions on Remus' face, he came to a decision.

"In any case, weren't you supposed to retrieve me for Albus?" Harry suggested lightly. Remus looked up, startled, and gave him a sheepish smile. Harry rolled his eyes. "C'mon, Remus. I'm starving. Let's go down to the Great Hall."

However, as Harry led the way out of his quarters and through the Hogwarts corridors, stealing occasional glances at Remus following him, he couldn't help but wonder who really was the 'babysitter' here.

* * *

Frank glanced at his watch and then back at the table where Remus, Harry, and Dumbledore sat. It was almost ten in the evening, and the four of them were still relaxing in the Great Hall. Remus and Dumbledore appeared to be having a heated debate about the pros and cons of using enchantments on a sherbet lemon; a sure sign of Firewhisky intoxication. Harry looked on, clearly amused, but refraining from interrupting the conversation. 

"Well, I should be getting home now," the Auror said, standing up and grabbing his coat. "Thanks for the dinner, Albus. I'll be back tomorrow."

Dumbledore smiled at his leaving guest. "You're welcome, Frank. I'll be waiting. Good night."

With a nod, Frank left the table and strode through the great oak doors, heading for the castle's exit. Just as he was about to reach the Entrance Hall, however, he halted in his steps. Giving a sigh of exasperation, he turned to face the darkened corridor.

"You're not planning to launch another one of your surprise attacks, are you, Harry?"

There was a soft rustle of cloth as Harry stepped out, with a sheepish grin, from behind one of the statues. "Guess I need to work a bit more on my stealth, then," he said with mock disappointment before he sobered. "Seriously, though, I'm not here to jump on you. I wanted to ask you something."

Frank raised an eyebrow.

"I wanted to know if it's possible for me to visit Azkaban."

Frank blinked, startled. He fixed Harry with a calculating look. "And why would you want to do that? It won't be a field trip, Harry. There are Dementors in there, not to mention extremely dangerous individuals and Death Eaters who were caught after the war."

It took some amount of willpower not to avert his eyes from Frank's stern gaze, but Harry nodded, his face resolute. "I'm aware of that. But I wanted to see Sirius Black." Frank's expression immediately darkened, and Harry hastened to continue. "There's something I need to clear up. I know you and Remus don't want anything to do with him, so I'll go alone if it's possible. So, can I?" he asked hopefully.

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry," snapped Frank. His voice echoed through the empty corridor, making Harry shrink back. Just as Harry was about to give up on his endeavor, Frank let out a sigh. "I'll have to come with you, if that's what you really want. A visitor can't enter Azkaban unless they are accompanied by an Auror."

Harry beamed.

"I hope you have a good reason for the visit, because I don't like it one bit," said Frank, wearily rubbing the spot between his eyes. "If I had my way, you won't be seeing the murderer in your lifetime. But knowing you, you'll come up with some crazy scheme if I'd refused. I suppose you don't want Remus or Albus to know about this?"

"You know me too well," Harry said, grinning widely.

Frank shook his head. "Sometimes, I wonder if that's a blessing or a curse." He reached out and opened the door. "I'll call the Ministry and see if I can secure the visit. Good night, Harry."

"Good night," Harry called after him, and with that, the door closed. Harry turned and began to walk at a brisk pace back to the Great Hall, a smile playing on his lips. Perhaps this trip to Britain wasn't a fruitless one, after all.

* * *

_A/N: As always, thank you for all your wonderful reviews! I hope you're enjoying Harry's trip as much as I am._

_Oh, and it might be a bit late to mention, but I've created a Livejournal to keep readers informed of how my writing is progressing. You can check it out (and also some random ramblings of a teenager) by clicking the link foundin my profile page. Feel free to post if you have any questions, comments, or suggestions... or just to say hi!_


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